Evening prayer

I go to the evening prayer
Like to a meeting with the Beloved
I shower, I comb my hair
I choose my clothes carefully
To please him.
And then I go
My hands carry a flower
A tulip or a rose
One fresh, delicate pink rose
Held at the level of my heart
I whisper and moan softly
And there he comes to me
Wrapping me in his arms
I feel his breath on my neck
And his cool light entering my veins
My head sinks backward
Baring my throat
Take me, I beg
Take me, use me
God, please make me your tool
I will suffer thirst, solitude and hunger
But make me your tool